


Beating Like A Hollow Drum

by Black_Hole_of_Procrastination



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-23 22:32:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4894801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Hole_of_Procrastination/pseuds/Black_Hole_of_Procrastination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But that was nothing to the hush that fell over the crowd when she finally removed her helm and named Sansa her Queen of Love and Beauty. In that moment, Elia could not help but feel a sense of poetic justice, as if they were all mummers acting out a distorted shade of that infamous tourney at Harrenhal."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beating Like A Hollow Drum

Elia is readying to wash her hands and face in a fresh basin of water when the Princess of Dragonstone bursts into her rooms, looking livid and oh so very lovely.

“Have you completely lost your mind?” Sansa’s face is pinched with fury, her hands balled at her sides.

Elia is relieved when Lady Brienne, Sansa’s ever-constant shadow, remains in the hall, shutting the door softly behind her.

Elia turns her attention back to Sansa. She smiles when she notices Sansa still wears the crown of roses she gave her at the tourney. 

What a lark it had been! 

For all that she trained beside them day after day, not one of her competitors supposed her for the mystery knight, not even Aegon! And then when it was just the two of them charging forward, the thrill she felt as her lance connected with Aegon’s chest, the deafening roar of the smallfolk and nobles both as they watched their prince hurtle towards the ground…

But that was nothing to the hush that fell over the crowd when she finally removed her helm and named Sansa her Queen of Love and Beauty. In that moment, Elia could not help but feel a sense of poetic justice, as if they were all mummers acting out a distorted shade of that infamous tourney at Harrenhal. 

Elia is not certain why Sansa is so wroth with her. Today had been the stuff of songs! She thought surely Sansa would be pleased.

Perhaps she is angry that Elia did not tell her beforehand. Elia had dearly wanted to keep it a surprise. Of course now that she thinks on it, had Sansa known from the beginning Elia might have asked for her favor.  _Well there is always the next tourney._

“I see you’ve come to congratulate your champion!” Elia shoots Sansa a cheeky grin. 

Sansa sputters furiously for a moment, clearly not amused.  _So serious is my Stark_. 

“What were you thinking?" Sansa finally hisses. "You will stir up talk!”  

Elia does not doubt it. 

She is a bastard daughter of Oberyn Martell. Her entire life has been fodder for gossips. She has done little to help that. She knows her involvement in the war had raised eyebrows and she is thought of as an eccentric here at court. Today’s escapade will most certainly send tongues wagging anew, especially since she not only dared to enter the lists but had the audacity to  _win_.

Still, she does not think Sansa has reason to fret. Of all that came to pass today, she doubts the court will balk at her naming Sansa the Queen of Love and Beauty. Many a knight before her has bestowed the honor on a member of the royal family. 

Besides, it is well known she is a favored among the princess’s ladies. Even Aegon has spoken many times of how pleased he is by the friendship between his lady wife and his best-loved cousin. 

_If only he knew…_

“The only talk will be of how improperly I’ve conducted myself,” Elia soothes, hoping to reassure Sansa. “And of how poorly Aegon rode,” she adds teasingly, unable to resist making a jape at her cousin’s expense. 

“Yes, thank you for that,” Sansa scowls at her, hands set on her hips. 

Elia does feel a bit guilty. 

Aegon has never been one to accept defeat with grace. He can be a monstrous bore when she bests him in cyvasse or in the yard, sometimes not talking to her for days afterwards. 

It was a small mercy he lost so few battles during the war, for surely they all would have put a sword to him before he’d even laid eyes on the Iron Throne just to be spared from his endless brooding. 

Elia frowns. She knows that her actions today will have earned Sansa a long week of cosseting and comforting Aegon while he sulks. 

_How very tedious men are._

“I’m sorry.”

Sansa huffs a sigh. 

“At the very least, you could have given the flowers to someone else.”

Elia nearly laughs at that, the notion of her choosing anyone else absurd. Even when red-faced and scowling, as she is now, Sansa is the loveliest things she’s ever seen.

Grinning, she moves to step behind Sansa.

“But how could I?” Elia asks innocently. She carefully pulls the long tumble of Sansa’s hair to one side so she may murmur directly into her ear. “To have crowned anyone else would be  _dishonest_.”

“Elia…” 

Sansa shivers at the feeling of Elia’s lips against the column of her neck. Elia presses a few more chaste kisses below Sansa’s ear before eagerly nipping at the skin and tasting it with her tongue. 

Sansa breaths out a soft, needy sigh. 

Elia moves closer. Her front is pressed flush with Sansa’s back as she hooks an arm around to slip a hand into Sansa’s bodice. Elia’s fingers dip below the neckline, caressing the first swell of Sansa’s breasts but little else.

Not for the first time, Elia laments her lover’s rigid, Northern gowns. If only Sansa would adopt the Queen’s style of dress as the other ladies of the court have done…

 _Perhaps I shall buy her such a gown with my winnings_ , Elia thinks, remembering the purse of gold dragons that came with her victory. The image of Sansa draped in the diaphanous silks of an Essosi gown is far too tempting.  _What better use for my coin could there be?_

“You smell of horses,” Sansa complains. She must not mind too much though, for she remains slouched against Elia, humming happily as Elia’s lips trail gently down her neck. 

“I suppose I will have to bathe before the feast,” Elia says with mock reluctance. “Perhaps you would care to assist me, princess.”

Sansa turns in her arms and swats at her. 

“You’re incorrigible,” she says, trying to seem exasperated, though the tilt of her lips gives her away.

Elia smirks and draws Sansa closer.  

She reaches out to trace a finger lightly over the garland of pink roses set against Sansa’s red hair. The sight of the blooms on her lover sends a peculiar feeling churning in her stomach.

“Will you wear these to the feast?”

“Of course,” Sansa says, brow furrowed. “It is only proper.”

Elia rolls her eyes. Sansa’s insistence on being mindful of propriety was usually a source of great amusement for Elia, but she has little the patience for it now. 

“And will you wear them  _after_  the feast?” she asks, imagining Sansa dressed in her crown of roses…and nothing else. 

Sansa shifts under Elia’s heated stare, her cheeks coloring prettily.

“Yes,” Sansa says, her voice breathier than it was only moments before. “If it please you.” 

Elia smiles. She leans to press a lingering kiss to Sansa’s lips eager to show just how very much it pleases her. 

**Author's Note:**

> The pairing is super random but I just felt the need to write it. Something about ‘Lady Lance’ ending up as Sansa’s knight tickled me.


End file.
